SUN AND RAIN

All day the sun and rain have been as friends, Each vying with the other which shall be Most generous in dowering earth and sea With their glad wealth, till each, as it descends, Is mingled with the other, where it blends In one warm, glimmering mist that falls on me As once G.o.d's smile fell over Galilee.

The lily-cup, filled with it, droops and bends Like some white saint beside a sylvan shrine In silent prayer; the roses at my feet, Baptized with it as with a crimson wine, Gleam radiant in gra.s.ses grown so sweet, The blossoms lift, with tenderness divine, Their wet eyes heavenward with these of mine.

WITH HER FACE

With her face between his hands!

Was it any wonder she Stood atiptoe tremblingly?

As his lips along the strands Of her hair went lavishing Tides of kisses, such as swing Love's arms to like iron bands.-- With her face between his hands!

And the hands--the hands that pressed The glad face--Ah! where are they?

Folded limp, and laid away Idly over idle breast?

He whose kisses drenched her hair, As he caught and held her there, In Love's alien, lost lands, With her face between his hands?

Was it long and long ago, When her face was not as now, Dim with tears? nor wan her brow As a winter-night of snow?

Nay, anointing still the strands Of her hair, his kisses flow Flood-wise, as she dreaming stands, With her face between his hands.

MY NIGHT

Hush! hush! list, heart of mine, and hearken low!

You do not guess how tender is the Night, And in what faintest murmurs of delight Her deep, dim-throated utterances flow Across the memories of long-ago!

Hark! do your senses catch the exquisite Staccatos of a bird that dreams he sings?

Nay, then, you hear not rightly,--'tis a blur Of misty love-notes, laughs and whisperings The Night pours o'er the lips that fondle her, And that faint breeze, filled with all fragrant sighs,-- That is her breath that quavers lover-wise-- O blessed sweetheart, with thy swart, sweet kiss, Baptize me, drown me in black swirls of bliss!

THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN

The hour before the dawn!

O ye who grope therein, with fear and dread And agony of soul, be comforted, Knowing, ere long, the darkness will be gone, And down its dusky aisles the light be shed; Therefore, in utter trust, fare on--fare on, This hour before the dawn!

GOOD-BY, OLD YEAR

Good-by, Old Year!

Good-by!

We have been happy--you and I; We have been glad in many ways; And now, that you have come to die, Remembering our happy days, 'Tis hard to say, "Good-by-- Good-by, Old Year!

Good-by!"

Good-by, Old Year!

Good-by!

We have seen sorrow--you and I-- Such hopeless sorrow, grief and care, That now, that you have come to die, Remembering our old despair, 'Tis sweet to say, "Good-by-- Good-by, Old Year!

Good-by!"

FALSE AND TRUE

One said: "Here is my hand to lean upon As long as you may need it." And one said: "Believe me true to you till I am dead."

And one, whose dainty way it was to fawn About my face, with mellow fingers drawn Most soothingly o'er brow and drooping head, Sighed tremulously: "Till my breath is fled Know I am faithful!" ... Now, all these are gone And many like to them--and yet I make No bitter moan above their gra.s.sy graves-- Alas! they are not dead for me to take Such sorry comfort!--but my heart behaves Most graciously, since one who never spake A vow is true to me for true love's sake.

A BALLAD FROM APRIL

I am dazed and bewildered with living A life but an intricate skein Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving Wound up and unravelled again-- Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, I am wondering ever the while At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, And a something that weeps when I smile.

And I walk through the world as one dreaming Who knows not the night from the day, For I look on the stars that are gleaming, And lo, they have vanished away: And I look on the sweet-summer daylight, And e'en as I gaze it is fled, And, veiled in a cold, misty, gray light, The winter is there in its stead.

I feel in my palms the warm fingers Of numberless friends--and I look, And lo, not a one of them lingers To give back the pleasure he took; And I lift my sad eyes to the faces All tenderly fixed on my own, But they wither away in grimaces That scorn me, and leave me alone.

And I turn to the woman that told me Her love would live on until death-- But her arms they no longer enfold me, Though barely the dew of her breath Is dry on the forehead so pallid That droops like the weariest thing O'er this most inharmonious ballad That ever a sorrow may sing.

So I'm dazed and bewildered with living A life but an intricate skein Of hopes and despairs and thanksgiving Wound up and unravelled again-- Till it seems, whether waking or sleeping, I am wondering ever the while At a something that smiles when I'm weeping, And a something that weeps when I smile.

BRUDDER SIMS

Dah's Brudder Sims! Dast slam yo' Bible shet An' lef' dat man alone--kase he's de boss Ob all de preachahs ev' I come across!

Day's no twis' in dat gospil book, I bet, Ut Brudder Sims cain't splanify, an' set You' min' at eaze! W'at's Moses an' de Laws?

W'at's fo'ty days an' nights ut Noey toss Aroun' de Dil-ooge?--W'at dem Chillen et De Lo'd rain down? W'at s'prise ole Joney so In dat whale's inna'ds?--W'at dat laddah mean Ut Jacop see?--an' wha' dat laddah go?-- Who clim dat laddah?--Wha' dat laddah lean?-- An' wha' dat laddah now? "Dast chalk yo' toe Wid Faith," sez Brudder Sims, "an' den you know!"